


AKA We Met In The Winter

by Cloudnine101



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, Angst, Christmas Presents, F/F, First Kiss, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"You broke into my house," Trish says, leaning against the doorframe, "for pre-Christmas gift-giving."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA We Met In The Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a universe where Jessica never met Killgrave, but still ended up as the ass-kicking private detective she is.

_1_

_Dec. 22_

There's a box beneath Trish's pillow, which Jessica put there. It's covered in red sticky-tape. There's a fake silver chain inside, with a blue pendant on its end. It had been hanging in a shop window, and had cost $18.99.

Jessica closes her eyes, waiting.

Any second now, Trish is going to wake. It's going to happen. This is never going to work, because it can't work. How can it work? It's not going to - not in a million years. Even if Jessica spent those years repeating and repeating the motion, she still wouldn't nail it. 

Trish doesn't move. 

There's silence.

Jessica exhales, and then curses. Trish stirs. Stepping backwards, Jessica almost trips over the litter of gift boxes stacked neatly on the floor. Her mobile continues to buzz; in Jessica's mind, it seems to shatter the stillness.

"This is a really bad time, Luke."

On the other end of the line, Luke chuckles. "What are you up to, Jones?" He sounds faintly tipsy.

Halfway out of the window, Jessica pauses. "Uh," she says, "nothing."

"I just wanted to check in on you."

"That's great," Jessica snaps, wedging the phone between her ear and her shoulder. Stepping off the balcony, she drops. She hits the sidewalk. Wobbling, she continues, "You could've picked a time that wasn't the middle of the night."

"I'm not sober in the middle of the night." Luke sighs. "I've missed you."

Jessica tries to wave down the passing cab, which honks its horn at her. "Asshole!" Jessica takes two stumbling steps after it.

"I take it you've got somebody over there," Luke says.

"No. No, I'm just - busy." Jessica casts around. The street is mostly empty, apart from a homeless guy sitting on the curb. Jessica walks down towards the subway station, feeling around in her pockets for her card.

"What are you doing, then?"

Jessica frowns. "Nothing."

"Is this a job?"

"What's it to you?"

Luke laughs. "I bet I can guess. Are you - Christmas shopping?"

Jessica almost walks into a lamppost. " _No_. Of course not. Why would I be doing that?"

"Wow," Luke whistles, "I was right. That's new."

"Shut up."

"So, why _are_ you awake at midnight?"

Running a hand through her hair, Jessica pulls her hood up to cover it. "I'm - visiting a friend."

"When you say visiting, do you mean coercing?"

"When I say visiting, I mean _visiting_." Jessica breathes into her hands, trying to warm them. She then takes hold of the phone again, from where it was crammed against her skull. "I've got to go. I'm almost there."

"Alright," Luke says genially. He's probably smiling. "Tell Trisha I say hello." 

"Her name's Trish," Jessica says. "There's no a in that."

"Sorry," Luke mutters. "Have a good day, the pair of you."

"We won't be having a day together. Why would we be doing that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Luke snorts, and, before Jessica can set him to rights, hangs up.

"Damn it," Jessica says. She has to wait fifteen minutes for the next train, knees brought up to her chest in the tunnel. 

 

.

 

Jessica gets back to her apartment. Her feet are bruised, and her mouth is dry. Jessica opens up the cupboard, and pours herself a glass. Her drains it, and then has another, to wash it down.

Now that she's warm again, Jessica thinks about Trish. Best case scenario: she'll be desperately happy, fling herself along the street, and come crashing into Jessica's arms. Worst case: she'll be creeped out, like any normal human being.

Jessica puts her head in her hands, and takes a long, steadying breath. The knot of worry forms tight in her chest. It's too late to take it back now, anyway. Trish has probably already woken up. Jessica can't fight back an image of Trish, long legs crossed beneath her nightgown, pouring herself a bowl of muesli or whatever it is she eats to keep so thin.

Laughing, Jessica places the glass on her bedside table, resolving to finish it in the morning - later in the morning. The bedside clock reads 03:41 in large, green letters. Jessica closes her eyes, and waits for a while.

In the apartment above, right on cue, there's a banging. Somebody screams. Somebody else swears. Jessica draws the covers up over her head.

 

.

 

_2_

_Dec. 23_

"When I said we were roommates," Jessica tells Malcolm, "what I meant was that I'd look after you until you solved your plumbing issue. So now, obviously, you can entertain strangers while I'm out." 

Trish moves to her feet. She's wearing a short black pencil skirt, and a white blouse. "I'm hardly a stranger, Jessica," she says. At her name on those lips, Jessica comes up short.

"She's right," Malcolm says. "And besides, she kind of invited herself in."

"I was waiting for you," Trish murmurs, as though that explains everything. "We need to talk."

"Alright. Talk." Folding her arms over her chest, Jessica sends Malcolm a glare. "Whatever you can say in front of me, you can say in front of him. He probably won't remember it, anyway."

"Not true," Malcolm insists. "I had bacon and beans for breakfast."

"Yeah. That's 'cause I made them," Jessica sniffs. "They're memorable."

Trish fights back a smile. Jessica can tell. "Well," Trish says, "here we go. I have something do you. I'm sorry, Malcolm, but - there's nothing for you."

"S'not new," Malcolm says. "Jessica's never got me anything either."

Jessica shoves his shoulder, hard. "Okay. What do you have?"

The most polite way to do it, Jessica thinks, would be just to blurt it out. That would save her the trouble.

Trish has found out. Trish has found out, and is angry. Trish has found out, and is embarrassed. Trish has found out, and wants to return it. Trish has found out, and has come to say that she's sorry, but Jessica's stupid infatuation is childish, and that really, Jessica was nothing more than a charity case to begin with.

"Here," Trish says. She's holding out a parcel, and is biting her lip. Jessica stares at it, half expecting it to turn red as she watches. It doesn't. It's wrapped in green paper. "Merry Christmas. I know it's a little early, but I don't know if I'm going to be in town for the day. My mother wants to spend some time with me."

"I'm not invited, am I?"

Trish shakes her head. "You're safe," she says, her lip quirking. "I'm the one who'll have to face the music."

Jessica nods. She swallows. The box sits lightly in her palms. "Don't let her give you any trouble."

"I won't," Trish says, one perfect blonde curl falling out of place. Her smile is sweet and gentle, if a little strained. "I promise."

Jessica hums. Turning away, she puts the parcel on the shelf, and squares her shoulders. "Thanks, but I haven't got anything for anyone. As you can see, I'm broke."

"That's bull," Malcolm mumbles. Jessica places a hand on his arm. "Or something."

"So anyway," Jessica butts in, keeping her eyes on the ground. "I'll see you another time." Beads of sweat are running down her nose. Jessica can feel it. Since when did the central heating start working? Trish has probably worked it out. Her eyes are bright enough. Tris knows, Trish knows, Trish knows, and she never wants to meet with Jessica again, even as somebody she pities.

The door shuts quietly behind Trish. Jessica lets out a breath. At her side, Malcolm peers up at her. She glowers at him, and says, "If anybody asks, I never bought Trish presents. Understand?"

"Understood," Malcolm mutters. " _C'est l'amour._ "

"What?" Jessica snaps.

Malcolm stands up, wavering. "Nothing," he says. "I'm gonna get some more food."

"There's pizza in the fridge," Jessica yells at his retreating back.

Malcolm holds up a hand. "Ate it," he replies.

 

_3_

Trish's skin is soft to the touch. It's cool, too. Jessica draws the blankets higher up over her.

This time, it's perfume. Jessica had caught a whiff of it in a department store she'd been tailing some guy through. He'd been buying it for his lover. Jessica had thought it seemed to fit.

"Trish," Jessica says, and smiles.

Trish leans into the touch, her head turning to one side. "Jessica," she says.

Jessica yanks her hand away. She sits out on the fire escape. The city's barely woken, yet. A police car is going by in the distance. Its siren is blaring. The lights in the houses are tinged yellow and red and green. There's the sound of music, ringing out from far away. The wind is chilled; thick clouds are gathering.

Tilting her head upwards, Jessica stands. She leans forward, so that she's dangling over the edge of the railing.

Two stories up, Trish's home is quiet.

The snow melts against Jessica's skin. Reaching her hands up, she manages to catch a few flakes. It falls gently, scattering the ground. She lets it go. 

Opening up her bag, Jessica descends the stairwell. It creaks ominously beneath her. The photographs are still there, in the same pristine condition. The man's smiling - his arms are outstretched. The woman's running to meet him, scarf trailing after her. In the next shot, they're embracing; the man's forehead is pressed against her shoulder. He was laughing, Jessica recalls. 

She hands the photographs over to his wife, and takes the money.

 

.

 

That night, Malcolm makes dinner. There's another shouting match upstairs. Jessica ends up stabbing her fork into the table twice. It's uneventful. 

They clear away the dishes at the end. Somebody has decided that letting off fireworks would be a great idea; every time one of them explodes, Jessica flinches. Malcolm's humming some song under his breath. 

"If you loved someone but you couldn't say anything about it, what would you do?" 

Malcolm glances across. His hat falls over his eyes. "I wouldn't say anything about it," he says. "But I take it that's not what you're planning on." 

"You're no help," Jessica says. 

 

_._

 

_4_

_Dec. 24_

"What's that?" Malcolm asks, the next morning. His hand wavers towards the coffee table.

"It's a bag," Jessica sighs. "What do you think?"

Malcolm approaches it warily. His eyes are narrowed. "I dunno," he says. Pulling it open with both hands, he lets out a small noise. "I - what's that?"

"It's a story," Jessica says. "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The boy at the bookshop said that it was - "

She doesn't get to finish, because Malcolm's yanking her into an embrace. He's snuffling slightly. "Oh God," he says, "this is so - I'm so - thank you, I don't know how I'll - I - you - "

"Okay," Jessica says. "You can make it up to me by letting go."

Malcolm steps back, appropriately sheepish. "Sorry."

Jessica wipes down the arms of her jacket. "Yeah," she grunts. "But - happy early Christmas."

Malcolm frowns. "You're not going to be here?" he asks.

Jessica shakes her head. "I'm not," she says.

Perching on the arm of the couch, Malcolm coughs. He wipes a sleeve over his mouth. "Then where are you going?"

"I don't know yet," Jessica says. "I need you to look after the apartment, if you're up to it."

Malcolm nods, once. "Sure. Hey, do you need, like, any plants watered?"'

"Malcolm. You have known me for two years. Have I ever owned a plant?" 

Malcolm chews on one fingernail contemplatively. "No. But you could still start." 

Jessica rolls her eyes. "I'm a private detective, not a botanist." 

"Yeah, about that." Malcolm draws to a halt, suddenly. "What exactly do you do, as a private detective? From what I've researched, you definitely shouldn't come home with as many bruises as you do." 

"From what you've researched?" Jessica mimics. "Please. I'm fine, and I know what I'm doing, so stop checking up on me." 

"I wasn't." Malcolm leans forward slightly. "Be careful." 

 

.

 

On Jessica's phone, there is one missed message. She picks it up. For a second, there's only the sound of breathing, and then: "Hi, Jessica. It's Trish. I'll be out of town tonight - mother wanted me there early. I was just calling to say goodbye, and Merry Christmas. Please don't do anything reckless."

There's a crackling, and the familiar beep. Jessica saves the message.

She goes into the shop, and buys a small bottle of whiskey. Tucking it away into her bag, Jessica takes the stairs two at a time. The gift bag is still there. 

 

.

 

Jessica winds up running through an alley, camera in one hand. There's a chain link fence coming up in front of her; she grabs hold of it, and swings herself across. The man following her slams into it.

"You lose," Jessica pants into the gap. 

The man's face twists. He reaches to his belt, and takes hold of a knife. Jessica staggers backwards. The man lunges for her, but Jessica grabs his wrist and twists him sideways. The man yells. He falls, clutching his hand to his chest. Jessica takes hold of his collar, shaking him. 

"Tell your boss I've already sold the pictures," Jessica says. The man whimpers. "And tell him - tell him it's Christmas Eve, and that I am really against getting mugged on Christmas Eve." 

The man's eyes are bloodshot. "Yeah," he spits, "yeah, I'll let him know." 

"Good." Jessica releases him. "And get yourself a haircut!" 

The man doesn't look back. He disappears around the corner. Jessica stares at the knife - the man's knife - in her hand. Pitching backwards, she throws it into a dumpster. 

" _Ow_ ," somebody says. 

"Are you in a dumpster?" Jessica says. "It's Christmas tomorrow, and you're - in a dumpster. Get out of there." 

The man sits up. He's wearing some kind of dark shirt, and has a black band across his eyes. "I didn't exactly _choose_ to be here." 

Jessica looks him up and down. "Get out of there," she repeats. "Can you walk?" 

The man nods. He proves his point by doing so, and hopping down to the ground. "I was - catching my breath." He's still clutching the knife, Jessica realises. It's held around half a metre away from him. 

"Merry Christmas," Jessica says. 

"To you, too," the man murmurs, with a tone of one infinitely surprised. "I mean, um, have a lovely festive season?" He says it like a question. He has a lilting quality to his voice. 

"Is there anyone I can get for you?" 

"I'm fine," the man says, stepping backwards. He props himself up against a wall with one hand, in a pose of affected nonchalance. "Really." 

A gust blows a crisp packet between them. Jessica sees it flutter away. "Fine," she says. "It's not my problem."

The man steps fully into the wall, and is gone. 

 

_5_

Luke answers the door in his boxers and a pale grey shirt. "You surprised me," is all he says.

"Christmas," Jessica gets out, mouth dry, and chucks the present at his chest.

Luke catches it two-handed, impressively enough. His brows draw together as he tears the paper away. "A key?" he asks.

"To my house. I'm leaving Malcolm there over the winter, and I don't want him to freeze. Or starve." Jessica rubs at her arms. "And also, it's high time you could get in whenever you wanted to. I know it's not a big thing. I had it copied the other day." 

"You never have been a flowers and chocolates kind of girl."

Jessica laughs. Luke doesn't respond, so she walks towards the bottom of the road with her hands in her pockets and her head down low.

"Jessica Jones!" Luke calls. Jessica turns. He's still in the doorway, one foot in, and one foot out. "Have a good Christmas."

Jessica nods, and leaves.

 

.

 

There's somebody outside Luke's house. He's walking along the street slowly, swinging his legs around. He has short hair, and wears a purple suit. 

"Merry Christmas," Jessica says, as she passes him. He's another drunk, she figures.

The guy's mouth opens and shuts. His head pivots; he's handsome, Jessica supposes, in an abstract sort of way. It seems as though he's looking somewhere else.

"It's not Christmas yet!" he hollers. He's Brtish. 

"Relax," Jessica says. She doesn't spare him another glance. 

 

_._

 

_6_

Trish isn't in her bed, tonight. She isn't going to be. Jessica knows that. But she's holding the flowers in one hand, and the vase in the other, and she isn't the kind to give up.

In some ways, the lack of Trish makes this a whole lot easier.

The apartment seems a lot less pretty now that it's empty. Jessica straightens a photograph on the table. There's no point in leaving it in the bedroom, now. The risk has gone out of it. By Jessica's reckoning, she can slap it down now and be at the bar come morning.

When the light switches on, Jessica has to bite down on a little scream. Burglars, is her first thought. She's probably too terrified for a person who has just broken into somebody else's home. The thing is, there's nowhere to hide. It's all open-plan, beautiful living, now made complete by roses. 

"You lied," Jessica breathes. "You never were going to your mother's. You _sneak_."

"You broke into my house," Trish says, leaning against the doorframe, "for pre-Christmas gift-giving."

Jessica shrugs. "Kinda." She stops, something like deja vu creeping over her. "You knew it was me? All along?"

"Oh, I knew. Who else would ever do something like that?" Trish sighs. Her legs curl sideways together; there's a fine sheen of blonde hair on her knees. She straightens and crosses the room. "Seriously, Jess, why would I leave my window open while I was sleeping otherwise?"

Jessica doesn't point out that, if Trish lived in her neighbourhood, she may well not have a window left to open. She keeps her mouth shut.

"Do you remember when we used to do this?" Trish asks.

"Do what?"

Trish looks at her. "As kids," she says, "we were always in and out of each other's rooms. You were like a sister to me."

Jessica hangs her head. Her stomach twists. It's the word she's dreaded hearing - because if she and Trish are sisters, that makes what she's feeling even more messed up, doesn't it?

"You took me in," Jessica says. "I was - grateful."

"But you didn't love me." Trish turns her head away. Her hair pools down, past her shoulders, along the lines of her back. "I get it."

Jessica takes hold of her arm, and, for a moment, Trish's breath catches. "I do love you. It's just - I don't - " Jessica shakes her head. "You're not my sister, Trish. You never have been. But I love you."

Trish's eyes are wide. "What?"

Placing one hand on Trish's shoulder, Jessica squeezes her eyes shut. Suddenly, all she can see is the man in the supermarket holding the bottle, and Malcolm sitting on her sofa, jacket pooling around him, and Luke pacing around his house with scotch in one hand and his mobile in the other.

"I love you," Jessica smiles. 

She kisses Trish. There is no response. Trish's lips are still against her own. Jessica draws back, and then Trish's hands are carding through her hair. Jessica blinks; Trish breathes something into her mouth, but she can't make it out.

("I've been waiting for that for _years_ ," is what Trish says.) 

 

.

 

They end up sitting on the sofa. Jessica has Trish's hands in hers. She doesn't know how it's happened.

Trish's hair has come loose from its plait. Jessica tugs at a strand. "Run away with me. You could do it, if you wanted to."

Turning onto her side, Trish smiles. Her fingers stray onto Jessica's shoulder, playing with the straps of her top. "I think I will," she says.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Warm This Winter, because Christmas is amazing. Everybody have a wonderful festive season!


End file.
